Vel’shar (Saving Ceraste #10)

Prologue

Four months ago…

A'Vanti

Iknow every crack in this wall.

Every faded stain. Every hairline fracture in the pale gray stone.

There's a pattern in the upper left corner that almost looks like the twin moons of home if I squint hard enough.

I've traced those two overlapping circles of darker pigment with my eyes so many times I could probably draw them from memory.

Not that I have the strength to hold a stylus anymore.

Below the not-moons, rows of hash marks score the surface. I carved those not long after I first arrived here, back when I still believed the days were worth counting.

That was a long time ago.

Now I just lie on my sleeping pad and stare at those scratches until they blur out of focus. They're the only mark I've left on this place. The only proof I exist at all.

"A'Vanti." Premier Sator's voice is soft and careful. He treats me as if I'm a wounded animal that might bolt. "You need to eat something."

I don't turn. I don't answer.

The tray he brought sits untouched beside my pad.

Some kind of lumpy, flavorless Ostium porridge and a few slices of pale root vegetable.

A cup of water that tastes faintly of minerals.

My people's food is bold: spiced stews, charred meats dripping with savory sauces, vegetables pickled until they make your eyes water.

I'd give anything for a bowl of chariom right now.

I often dream of the spiced noodles, waking up with phantom tingles still on my tongue.

The food here tastes like nothing. I know Sator prepared it himself, I'm certain he snuck in extra portions when the guards weren't watching.

I know he risks punishment every time he shows me kindness.

I can't seem to make myself care anymore.

"A'Vanti. Please." His footsteps draw closer. The rustle of his uniform as he crouches beside me.

Something in his voice makes me roll over.

I almost wish I hadn't. The gray fabric hangs looser on his frame than it did when I first arrived.

The collar is gaping, and the shoulders droop where they used to fit.

I'm not the only one wasting away in this facility.

That realization stirs a flicker of concern I thought I'd lost the capacity to feel.

"I'm worried about you. I can see it in your scales, the way your hair is thinning. If you stop eating entirely—"

"Then it'll be over." My voice comes out like a rasp. I barely recognize it as my own. "Isn't that what we all want?"

The silence that follows is heavy. I roll back over, facing the wall, not wanting to see any more pity from Sator.

Sator settles onto the cold floor beside my pad. Of all the Ostium scientists who've poked and prodded and taken samples from my body, he's the only one who's ever looked at me like I'm still a person.

"I don't want that," he whispers. "And neither does my daughter."

Princess Ameela. The name sends a complicated twist through my chest. Hope and despair tangled up so tight I can't separate them anymore.

I've never met the princess, but Sator talks about her all the time, always in hushed tones when the guards and other scientists are out of earshot.

She's brave, he tells me. Clever. He believes she is working in secret to undermine her mother's reign, to end the experiments, to free us all.

Pretty words. Pretty dreams.

I've been here long enough to stop believing in dreams.

"She'll find a way," Sator continues. "One of my contacts in the queen's castle told me that your people are forming alliances with other species. I've heard whispers the queen is worried. Truly worried. There's reason to hope, A'Vanti."

I finally turn my head just enough to see him from the corner of my eye.

His lavender-gray skin looks more gray than usual under the harsh lights.

The silver of his eyes is dimmed with exhaustion.

His luxen, the grooves along his temples and jaw that betray every emotion, pulse with deep, mournful indigo.

He believes what he's saying. I can see it in every line of his weathered face.

"No one's coming." I turn back to my wall again, to those familiar scratches, to the twin moons that aren't really moons at all. "No one even knows we're here."

I hear his breath stutter. I don't need to look to know he's wringing his hands; he always does when he's trying to convince himself as much as me. "Ameela will figure out a way. She has resources, allies—"

"Premier." My voice is flat and final. "I'm tired."

For a long moment, he doesn't respond. Then I feel the lightest touch against my shoulder. His fingers trembling slightly.

"Then rest," he says. "But don't give up. Promise me that."

I can't promise. I can't give him that small comfort when I've got nothing left inside me but this hollow, aching emptiness. So I close my eyes and let the silence stretch between us. Let my breaths slow until maybe he'll think I've fallen asleep and leave me in peace.

I stare at the wall, waiting for Sator to leave.

And then the world explodes.

The boom is so sudden and violent that for one disorienting moment, I think I've died.

That my heart has finally given out, and this is what it feels like.

But then the floor shudders beneath my sleeping pad.

Another explosion follows, closer this time, and I hear voices shouting and the sharp, stuttering crack of weapons fire.

I bolt upright so fast my vision swims with black spots. My wasted muscles scream in protest. Sator's already on his feet, his luxen flickering through a rapid cascade of colors.

"What—" I start, but another boom drowns out my words. This one's close enough to rattle the tray beside my pad. The cup of water tumbles to the floor.

The shouting is getting louder. Closer.

I try to stand, but my legs give out and I collapse back onto the sleeping pad. Sator is at my side in an instant. I reach out without thinking and grab his hand. I clutch at him. His fingers close around mine immediately, squeezing tight.

"It could be—" he gasps. The hope in his voice is almost painful to hear.

My cell door bursts open. A figure storms through the opening with a weapon raised.

I've never seen anything like this being.

It's tall. Taller than me, though not as tall as a Cerastean male.

Something about the breadth of his shoulders and the hard set of his jaw makes me think he's male, but it's hard to be sure with such strangely flat features and smooth, sandstone-colored skin.

He has no scales. Just a flat, alien face with two eyes, a nose, and a mouth set in hard lines of concentration.

But I don't have time to study this strange creature, because more figures are pouring through the ruined doorway behind it. And these I recognize.

Cerastean males. Warriors, by the look of them. Tall and powerful, scales gleaming in muted shades of bronze and copper and gold. They move with the controlled efficiency of warriors, weapons sweeping the room, and the sight of my own kind after so long hits me like a physical blow.

The strange male barks words in a language I don't understand and swings its weapon toward Sator.

I don't think. There's no thought involved at all. Just instinct. Only the desperate need to shield the one person who's protected me.

I throw myself off the sleeping pad and in front of Sator, my weakened legs nearly buckling as I spread my arms wide. "Do not harm him!" I scream in Cerastean.

The creature freezes. His weapon still raised.

"Stand down." One of the Cerastean warriors speaks; to the male or to me, I'm not sure. Then, to Sator in Ostium: "You. On your knees. Hands in the air."

Sator releases my hand immediately and complies, sinking down to the cold floor with his arms raised. His luxen cycle through rapid pulses of anxious green. But his eyes never leave me.

"He's not our enemy," I say urgently, turning to the Cerastean warrior. He's older than the others, with dark copper scales and the bearing of command. "Premier Sator is a captive like us. He's protected us… helped us—"

"We'll determine that." The warrior's voice isn't unkind, but it's firm. He produces restraints and moves toward Sator. I take an unsteady step to intercept.

A hand catches my arm.

I spin, hissing on instinct, and find myself face to face with the strange male. It has put its weapon away and is holding up its other hand in what I belatedly recognize as a gesture of peace. He says something in an unfamiliar language. The words are rolling and strange.

I shake my head to show I don't understand.

"He's a human," the copper-scaled warrior says as he secures Sator's wrists behind his back. "They're allies. They've been helping us fight against Queen Diamalla."

Human. The word means nothing to me, but I file it away as I study this creature – this human – with wary attention. He hasn't tried to hurt me. He lowered his weapon when I screamed. And the Cerastean warrior seems to trust him, which has to count for something.

My legs are trembling. The burst of adrenaline that got me off the sleeping pad is fading fast, and I sink back down onto its edge before I collapse entirely.

"Please." I keep my eyes on the human even as I address the Cerastean. "Don't harm Premier Sator. He's been a prisoner here, the same as any of us. The queen forced him to—" My voice catches. I have to swallow hard before I can continue. "He tried to protect us. However he could."

Behind me, I hear Sator speaking. His Ostium-accented Cerastean is rough but understandable. "My daughter. Princess Ameela. Is she—"

"The princess is well," the warrior replies. Sator closes his eyes. Just for a moment. "She's leading the assault on the capital as we speak. Diamalla will fall within the hour."

A soft sound escapes Sator. When I glance over, I see his luxen have flooded with brilliant gold. A color I've never seen in all our time together. Joy, I realize. Pure, overwhelming joy.

His daughter is alive. His daughter is winning.

The human makes another sound, drawing my attention back. He's crouched down to my level and is extending one hand toward me. Palm up, fingers slightly curled.

He says something else in his strange rolling language. The tones are gentler now, almost coaxing.

I look at his outstretched hand. At this impossible creature with his smooth, unreadable face. Behind him, the Cerastean warriors are moving through the facility. Their shouts echo down corridors. Somewhere in the distance, I can still hear the crack of weapons fire.

Everything is changing.

This is a wonderful thing. I should be elated, but I am so, so tired.

But the human's hand doesn't waver. It waits, patient and steady, and his forbearance makes me reach out and place my hand into his palm.

His skin is warm. Warmer than I expected, and softer than my own. He closes his fingers carefully around my hand. Carefully, like he knows how fragile I've become, and begins to rise, pulling me gently up with him.

My legs refuse to cooperate.

I make it halfway to standing before my knees give out entirely. A small cry of frustration escapes me as I crumple. The human moves faster than I expect, catching me before I hit the floor and scooping me into his arms. He pulls me close to a broad, solid chest.

I should struggle. I should hiss and claw and fight this stranger who's put his hands on me without permission.

Instead, I sag into him, too weak to do anything but breathe and stare.

He straightens, lifting me like I weigh nothing at all.

He cradles me against his chest, my head resting in the hollow of his shoulder.

This close, I can see details I missed before.

Faint lines around his eyes. A small scar cutting through one eyebrow.

Brown hair peeking out from beneath his helmet – a dark, muted color so unlike the golden shades of my people.

That hair. I can't stop looking at it. It's the color of the dark sands of the Rel'kathari Wastes back home.

Rich brown with hints of deeper umber, so different from the pale gold of my people.

And it's cropped short, barely long enough to curl at his temples.

Among Cerasteans, only the grieving cut their hair like that.

I stare back as he watches me with an expression I can't quite read… The pupils are round, not slitted, and surrounded by a ring of color that makes my breath catch. Blue. The bright, vivid blue of open sky. I've been surrounded by gray walls for so long that the color is almost shocking.

So impossibly, startlingly blue.

I haven't seen blue since my last glimpse of sky, the day they took me. And here it is, in the eyes of this strange creature.

The human says something again, and I shake my head weakly.

He pauses. Seems to consider. Then says one word, very slowly and deliberately: "Gew-ba."

Gho'ba? The word sounds almost like the name of the great desert raptors back home. The gho'ba are silent hunters with razor talons who strike from above without warning. An odd thing to say, but perhaps humans admire such creatures the way Cerastean warriors do.

I blink, trying to puzzle out what he is saying. "Gho-ba?"

He nods, then taps his own chest with one hand while still holding me easily with the other. "Goober."

Oh.

It's a name. His name. This strange male with sky-colored eyes who holds me so carefully. The simple act of introduction feels like the first normal thing to happen to me in longer than I can remember.

"A'Vanti," I manage. My voice is barely above a whisper.

The human, Goober, repeats it carefully. His strange flat tongue stumbles slightly over the syllables. "Ah-vahn-tee."

Close enough.

Just as I start to finally relax, he pulls his lips back and bares his teeth at me.

Instinct takes over.

I hiss, loud and sharp, baring my teeth right back at him. It's a pathetic display. The Ostium scientists saw to that when they ripped out my fangs and removed my venom sacs, but I refuse to cower before this creature. Ally or not.

The human blinks.

And then his face does something complicated. The corners of his eyes crinkling. His chest shaking slightly beneath me. I realize with dawning bewilderment that he's not threatened at all.

He's laughing.

"Ah-vahn-tee," he says, and I recognize my own name in his strange accent. Then, more words I don't understand: "Ah liek yoo."

I have no idea what it means, but his tone is warm. Almost affectionate.